


Why Widowmaker Really Wears That Catsuit

by InsominiacArrest



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Humor, Sexual Tension, Tracer is a HUGE lesbian, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 01:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7078192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsominiacArrest/pseuds/InsominiacArrest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the real reason Widowmaker has that outfit</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Widowmaker Really Wears That Catsuit

Widowmaker was not skilled in the art of hand to hand combat. She knew that, she knew if someone got to close she was in for it. It especially started to become a problem when her main enemy wouldn’t stay far away enough (zipping about like wanted her hair to stay in a permanent bedhead, lord).

It was within her good fortunes she made a very key observation about Lena Oxen-- and then she just dropped her neckline a little lower.

She perched on a ridge overlooking the golden gate bridge, awaiting an official who was scheduled to cross it at any moment. She didn’t know anything about the man, just that he had a bullet from Talon destined for his head.

Widowmaker was patient, she could handle time and enemies that hobbled into her net slowly.

“Lovely weather we having, no?” Widowmaker jumps and she can feel her heart speed up a beat. She tries to jump to her feet, she feels the heel of a boot dig into her back, “no need to get up luv.”

Widowmaker freezers and she tries to go through possible evasive maneuvers, most not ending with a pistol to her cerebellum.

“Now, I was thinkin’ t’ myself what would a pretty dame like yourself want with the sweet minister of finance, and then I realized!” Tracer leaned in over her and Widowmaker rolls her eyes, “I just can’t understand evil.” She could tell she was still upset about the last assassination. 

Widowmaker sighs, it was time, she didn't know if it work of course. She tries to roll over.

“Stay right there!”

“I am just rolling over.” She says experimentally, “I can’t even shoot zhis way.” She puts her hands up innocently and Tracer watches her suspiciously as she gets on her back.

Tracer narrows her eyes at her but keeps her pistols aimed straight ahead, “well….fine then.”

Widowmaker teases a smile, “What could me, what was zit you called me? A pretty dame?” Her lips curve upward and she reaches for her shirt (“shirt” rather).

“I called ya’ evil! Blue skin...and long hair…” Her eyes were drawn downward and her the blood drains from her face.

Widowmaker peeled back her catsuit for easy access and Tracer’s mouth hangs open and her pupils dilate like they are supernova’s turning into black holes.

She chuckles and arches her back off the ground to show her a better look of her pert breasts. She messages her nipples briefly and Tracer makes a high pitched noise in the back of her throat. She doesn’t even get a word out as Widowmaker kicks the pistols out of her hand and runs, tossing her rifle over her back and making it to the next building.

She got her target.

\-------------

It was two months later, the heat of battle raged around Widowmaker and her ears ring from the explosions, Overwatch had found Reaper’s bunker. 

Widowmaker was told to ‘defend with her life’ but she wasn’t sure if wanted to defend with even half of it. She was edging around the corners of the dark room as blasts from a rocket suit blew up the boxes around her feet.

She flinches, the lights start to dim as the building shakes and she fits her goggles over her eyes and surveys her location. She spots him: Winston, breathing heavily, paws down, he had just beat some peons into submission, weak.

Widowmaker lightly pads towards a high shelf and get into position, she could take down some of her enemies yet.

She’s jumping across a wide gap when she feels something hook around her collar, a small hand.

“Going somewhere?” She hates her.

Lena had caught her in midair and jumped them over to another shelf just as she had been about to aim. She growls in the back of her throat, Lena pats her cheek.

“Now, now there luv, you’re coming with oos, play nice!”

Widowmaker ducks from her hands and is able to jump away but Tracer pursues.

“Don’t make this hard!” She calls over and zips to right in front of her as they fall.

Widowmaker arches her eyebrows, it had been months but she figured it still applied, she ripped open her shirt as they crashed to the ground and thrust her naked tits in her face. Tracer let out a string of gibberish.

“I, m, wel, im.” Widowmaker momentarily rubs against her for her own vindication and they fall to the ground without the other women zapping herself away.

Widowmaker rolls as they hit the floor, she is more agile than her opponent and revolves to her feet and starts running. She looks behind her to spot Lena lying on the floor in a heap looking dazed, Winston is running towards them.

“TRACER! YOU USELESS LESBIAN.” Someone roars at her and Widowmaker smirks as she gets away.

\------------

Widowmaker had taken to wearing the lowest catsuit she could, more of stick on sticker at this point. Sure it sometimes was an inconvenience or a chilly breeze sent her shivering (she didn’t have the best circulation to begin with) but the look on Lena’s face every single time was something she probably up and sell and become a millionaire. 

And didn’t seem to get any better for the poor girl either, murmuring, mouth open, weak stares, honestly, Widowmaker should just bed her one of these days and give her really something to scream about.

Widowmaker played that fantasy out to pass the time for many hours: the way Lena would squirm under her, the flush of her cheeks and breathy moans, the way she would crumble under her hands like pastry. Widowmaker would tear her apart and put her back together so prettily.

She sighs to herself as she imagines her shyly removing her pieces of clothing one piece at a time (not she imagined Tracer would do anything attached to the word ‘shy’).

Her limbs go stiff as she waits for the guards to make their rounds and turn off the light in the museums top room. She hears their footsteps clink down to their office and she slips down to the ground.

“Perfect,” Widowmaker purrs. 

She plods across the ground, turning off the unseen security lasers with a device on her wrist, she walks straight into one of the highest security private collections in the world.

The Czech Egg of Alexander perched itself atop a bright purple pillow. She removes it delicately.

“Ya know, spiders don’t lay eggs.” Widowmaker grins, she’s almost happy to see her.

“Yez. Zey do.” She corrects politely as she turns around, “egg sacks.” 

Tracer was standing at the door cocking her head to the side, “alright, alright, well, this one don’t belong to you. Gotta make your own eggs.” Tracer flexes her knuckles, “and I’ll crack them.”

“You vant to play with my eggs cherie?” She simpers and Tracer’s jaw becomes a hard line.

“None of that now.” She waves her hand, “just hand over the expensive poultry jewelry. I even want to smack ya’ round too much.”

Widowmaker laughs wholeheartedly and then looks back up, “come and get it.” She backs up to the window, Tracer hesitates momentarily before zipping forward.

She feels a hand on her shoulder before she can see it and elbows the place where she was about to be.

“Oof.” Lena reels back, but then she launches herself onto Widowmaker and wrestles her to the ground, getting her hands on the egg in the process.

The excitement built in Widowmakers gut as their bodies slipped across each other aggressively. She reaches for her collar, but Lena stops her.

“I don’t think so.”

“Now, now, cherie,” she chastises, “play fair.”

“You never do!” Widowmaker laughs and finds herself with a better grip on the egg, she rolls them over and laughs as she straddles the poor girl, distracted by her naked chest.

“It only takes a few zeconds to lose.” She articulates as she poises herself to jet out the window.

“Got that right.” Lena thrusts herself forward and her face hovers inches from Widowmakers, her mouth makes an O shape. She kisses her.

Widowmakers heart practically stops and she has to force herself to not close her eyes and lean in.

She drops the egg.

“Gottcha!” Lena pulls back and grabs the shiny 5 pound paperweight and Widowmaker can feel herself flush. Actually flush.

She’s gone by the time Lena turns around again.

Widowmaker has to sit outside in the cold and try to cool off. She ponders getting a higher collared outfit, this strategy wasn’t helping her apparently. She touches her lips, and thinks better of it.


End file.
